Chapter 08
The western battlefield was brutal.
It was the continent’s crucible, where a single empire and seven kingdoms fought for supremacy—a hell on earth that used human lives as fuel.
Fed by the blood of countless people, it burned hotter and devoured even more blood. Could such a place be anything but horrifying? And among the fuel thrown into those flames, there were endless stories.
Some had lived particularly tragic lives before being swept into the war.
One noble youth Elric met was such a person.
“I am Elvers Greyman. You are Kasha, correct?”
Elric had just turned seventeen.
At the time, he was an up-and-coming mercenary who was finally adapting to life on the battlefield, while Elvers was the third son of a noble family leading a territorial war.
They stood in the relationship of employer and hired sword.
The battlefield that day centered around a fortress wall defended by a hundred musketeers.
Elric and the young lord were among the attackers.
“We must break through that gate. The knights of House Greyman will charge first. The soldiers will follow and begin the siege. The defenders will concentrate their forces on us. While they do, I want you to infiltrate the fortress.”
Elvers was only twenty years old.
The memory had grown old enough that Elric no longer recalled his exact appearance, but the brilliance in the young man’s eyes remained vivid even now.
Why was the son of a noble house, barely twenty years old, commanding troops on a battlefield?
Elric had wondered.
But he never asked.
A mercenary’s duty was simply to do the work he was paid for.
“Chaaarge!”
There were things that always lingered on a battlefield.
The metallic stench of blood and steel.
The yellow-brown clouds of dust kicked up from the earth.
And the roars and explosions that tore through them.
Elvers Greyman stood at the center of it all.
Not as a commander, but as a knight.
He personally joined the assault in an attempt to break through the enemy fortress walls.
Even through the dust, one could see how desperately he fought.
Elric watched from a position slightly removed from the battle.
“Kasha, we should begin as well.”
“Understood.”
In the end, the battle was won.
Elric had slain the enemy commander and captured the lord’s bloodline.
But it could not be called a complete victory.
Elvers Greyman was crippled and would never again stand on a battlefield.
Then again, such things were common.
How many people were crippled in war?
The fact that he had survived at all was fortunate.
And as a nobleman, his life would not be overly difficult afterward.
At least, that was what Elric thought.
The day he visited the Greyman estate to collect his payment, he learned more about Elvers’s life.
Not from Elvers himself, but from the servants.
Servants loved gossip.
After all, scandalous stories were the easiest cure for boredom.
“What will happen to the Third Young Master now? Poor thing.”
“Honestly, what crime did he commit by being born to a concubine? Yet he was forced onto the battlefield…”
“Did you see him? He can never walk again, but he still came back smiling.”
“He immediately went to report to the Duke.”
“And the Duke probably didn’t even blink…”
Everyone had a wound that hurt when pressed.
Even that brilliant young noble.
Elric pieced together the story.
Perhaps Elvers had thrown himself into battle to escape the discrimination he faced as the son of a concubine.
Perhaps, knowing he could never inherit the family, he dreamed of earning fame as a great general.
Or perhaps he simply wanted his father’s acknowledgment.
The reason Elric couldn’t stop thinking about him was probably because he felt a sense of kinship.
At seventeen, Elric hated his father with every fiber of his being.
He was the sort of person who could spend an entire day lamenting how miserable it was to grow up without parental affection.
And since he had never been good at holding back his thoughts, the moment he met Elvers, he blurted out:
“You look terrible. Life must be hard, having such a worthless father.”
“Oh? You’ve come.”
“Don’t you resent him?”
“Hm?”
To be honest, Elric had simply wanted someone to curse their fathers alongside him.
But the answer he received was unexpected.
“No. I did not go to war to earn the Lord’s favor.”
Sometimes, a person encounters someone who stands on a completely different plane from themselves.
Someone so fundamentally different that their existence itself feels strange.
That day was one of those moments.
Elvers Greyman sat half-reclined on his bed, pale and exhausted, yet his eyes still shone brightly with intelligence.
Without a trace of hesitation, he firmly denied Elric’s assumption.
“I merely fulfilled my duty. Nothing more.”
He explained:
Those born as nobles naturally bore responsibilities and obligations.
Because they stood in positions that others admired, they were required to set an example worthy of that status.
This war had simply been a place where he carried out those responsibilities.
Elric could not understand.
And so he asked a question so rude that, in hindsight, it would have been fair for someone to cut off his head.
“…Aren’t you the son of a concubine? Half commoner, aren’t you?”
Yet Elvers merely laughed.
“Then that means I’m half noble as well.”
He smiled.
“And by fulfilling half of my responsibilities and duties, I lost half my body.”
“Hm. Not bad.”
“Perhaps I’ll spend the rest of my life relaxing as a carefree idler.”
And that was exactly what he did.
He stepped away from the furnace of war and enjoyed the privileges of noble life.
A few years later, he even married.
The reason Elric knew this was because they continued meeting from time to time.
The peculiar and eccentric bastard son, Elvers Greyman.
He was one of the few friends Elric had made while living as Kasha.
And one of the men who had inspired him during his youth.
…In any case, there was a reason Elric was suddenly remembering the past.
“I am Tyria Portman.”
That had been Tyria’s answer when he asked why she had stayed behind to protect the inheritance instead of returning to her family.
Her expression had been calm.
Not the slightest wavering.
As though she were stating a simple and obvious truth.
Utterly noble.
And because of that, Elric found himself thinking of something.
Responsibility.
Duty.
The weight that people like her carried as naturally as breathing.
Scratch.
Scratch.
Elric sat at the desk in his room.
The dagger he always carried had been drawn and was scraping across the tabletop.
Its edge was completely dull.
He had never intended to sharpen it.
The dagger was merely a talisman he carried to calm his anxiety.
Scratch.
Scratch.
Even so, dozens of grooves had been carved into the desk.
The longer he thought, the deeper the marks became.
Staring at them, he repeated the same words.
Responsibility. Duty.
Wasn’t that the true meaning behind Tyria’s words?
“I am Tyria Portman.”
Elric didn’t know her well.
So he could only connect those words with her aristocratic bearing.
If that was the case, then what responsibilities and duties had she been carrying?
One question led to another.
A nobleman’s wife…
What exactly was her role?
As far as Elric knew, while the head of the house handled matters outside, the wife maintained the household within.
She was the pillar supporting the family’s center.
The one who preserved order.
If so, then perhaps Tyria’s answer was simple.
Portman.
She had remained as Tyria Portman to protect what remained of the Portman family.
Not for personal gain.
But because it was her responsibility.
Her duty.
The way she had spoken—as though stating an obvious fact—revealed the moral principles she had upheld.
And suddenly, shame twisted inside him.
Responsibility and duty.
Those were precisely the things Elric had abandoned and run away from.
Between the two of them, she alone had upheld the honor and obligations expected of both a person and a noble.
Clench.
His hand tightened around the dagger.
He stared at its dull blade.
He could never compensate her for the ten years she had sacrificed.
Elric had no power to turn back time.
But that didn’t mean there was nothing he could do.
Another letter will come.
Another letter demanding that she bring back the inheritance.
The letters had come continuously for an entire year.
There was no reason for them to stop now.
One thing stood out.
House Wibin had continued demanding replies, yet none of them had ever come in person.
Which meant they couldn’t.
Or believed they couldn’t.
Perhaps that was his father’s will.
Or perhaps it was Tyria’s.
Even if I ask, she won’t tell me…
If she were the type to explain herself, she would have already mentioned the letters.
From what he had observed, she wasn’t someone who voiced her burdens.
Nor someone who complained.
Fortunately, there was another way to find out.
Elric rose from his chair.
Leaning on his cane, he left the room.
“Aldio.”
“Yes, Young Master?”
“Could you prepare a carriage?”
“Hm? Where are you planning to go?”
Elric smiled.
“I think I’ll pay a visit to House Wibin.”
It would only be a small help.
But if those letters truly troubled Tyria, he could put a stop to them.
He could simply tell House Wibin to stop sending them.
And even if the opposite were true, he could still resolve it.
If Tyria had been unable to contact her family because of his father’s wishes, he could reconnect them.
A direct approach.
It had always been Elric’s favorite method.
